


It's a Strange Way to Tell You

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Series: Ben Folds's Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M, Percy/Oliver, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-20
Updated: 2010-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Compromises, slightly embarrassing revelations, and Percy being mildly clueless. Oh, and nothing at all that looks like angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Strange Way to Tell You

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the Ben Folds's universe, home of In Between Days and The Luckiest. This story is much lighter than the first and much shorter than both. The title of this piece comes from the lyrics of "The Luckiest." It's also a holiday fic for shoshannagold, who is the awesome beta on those stories! I hope you like it, honey!

"Percy!" Kingsley's voice booms through Percy's outer office and nearly makes him fall out of his chair.

"Yes, Sir?" Percy asks, straightening in his chair and ignoring the way Seamus is smirking at him.

"You are still here because…?" Kingsley asks, walking into the office and crossing his arms.

Percy stares at him, uncertain on the problem. "It's half-four?" he guesses.

Kingsley looks momentarily flabbergasted. He turns on his heel and raises his eyebrows at Seamus, obviously displeased. "I told you—"

"I did!" Seamus interrupts. "Twice!"

"Three times," Jill corrects from the outer office. "And I reminded him once."

"Excuse me," Percy says, voice louder than usual to get everyone's attention. "But if I'm missing something, could someone tell me, precisely, what, so that I can stop missing it and, apparently, allow you all to calm down?"

"Puddlemere's playing today," Seamus says, flat. He holds up his hands in an 'oh, come on' gesture when Percy just blinks at him. "Oliver's playing today," he says like it explains it.

"I am aware of Oliver's Quidditch schedule," Percy replies. "I don't understand why it's suddenly so urgent I show up at the game. I don't attend games during the week; Oliver knows this."

"Oh, dear Christ," Kingsley mutters, an expression he's picked up from the Non-Magical Staff in the last year-and-a-half. "Percy," he says slowly, "Puddlemere is in the finals this afternoon. At six. They're up for the Cup."

Percy looks at Jill, hoping for reason or explanation. She's leaning on the doorjamb, looking at him like he is a complete idiot. Percy sighs and adjust his glasses. "I know they're up for the Cup," he says, feeling like he should be apologizing for something, but he's not sure what. "I do listen when Oliver tells me about the season, but I don't—"

"Moral support," Jill interrupts. "You should be there for moral support."

Percy blinks. "Why?" he asks, and he doesn’t understand why Seamus drops his head into his hands. "Oliver knows I support him," he continues, and it makes Jill throw up her hands and walk back to her desk.

Kingsley looks almost unnecessarily amused. "Percy, you're off for the rest of the day. Go home. Tell Oliver you're going to the match."

"…okay," Percy agrees, still confused. "Jill—"

"You're clear," she replies, turning in her chair to look at him. "Leave your files, and I'll get them organized."

"Thank you," Percy says, feeling like he's been tricked into something. He gives a nod to Seamus that Seamus misses, head still in his hands, mumbling about some sort of "idiots" and "clueless" and a few other words Percy doesn't quite catch.

He shakes hands with Kingsley, gives a nod to Jill, and walks to the central Floo, feeling like he's doing something wrong to Floo home without a line of people behind him waiting to do the same.

"Perce?" Oliver greets, looking up from the broom he's trimming. "You sick?"

"No," Percy assures him and smiles a little when Oliver immediately walks over and brushes his fingers down Percy's right arm. "It's fine," he promises. "Kingsley…" He trails off, not sure where to start. He decides to change directions. "Is it terribly important to you if I'm at the match tonight?"

Oliver cocks his head at the question. "The match?"

"There was some…discussion…about my attendance at the match tonight." Percy shakes his head, thinking about it. "Kingsley, Seamus, and Jill seemed very concerned that I wasn't planning to go."

Oliver laughs. "You're kidding."

"I'm not." Percy feels himself smiling, and it widens when Oliver laughs again. "Explain it to me, please," he requests as Oliver nearly doubles over.

"They think—" Oliver stops to take in a deep breath. "We're in the finals," he says. "If we take out the Harpies tonight, we're going to play in the Cup."

"The Series Cup?"

"Yeah."

Percy beams. "I didn't realize! That's wonderful!" His brow furrows. "Is this one of those things I should have realized?"

Oliver grins, leans in, kisses Percy on the tip of his nose. "Maybe, but I know you and Quidditch. The fact that you listen to me ramble about it is enough."

"You don't mind that I don't go to all the games?"

"Course not." Oliver looks confused at the suggestion. "Perce, if I wanted you there, I'd ask you there. It's like those Ministry functions you always have to go to. If you made me show up at all of them, I'd probably make you come to all the games, but why make you sit there if you don’t want to be there?"

"I support you, you know," Percy tells him, wanting to be clear about it. "I try to retain all the information you give me—"

"It bores you." Oliver states. "Like all those memos and forms you tell me about. Completely boring for me, but it's what you do—what you enjoy—and I listen because you like it. Do you expect me to remember the details?"

Percy laughs at the idea. "No."

"So, we're even, see?"

Percy smiles, reaches out to touch Oliver's hand. "I see."

Oliver smiles in return, leans in and kisses Percy on the mouth. "But you'll come today?"

Percy chuckles, crooks a finger through one of Oliver's belt loops. "Well, I certainly can't go back to work."

*

The match takes six hours. Percy cheers for the first hour, sits and follows the action for the second, and has to force himself to keep watching into the third. The Harpies's coach calls a time out fifteen minutes into hour four, and Oliver swings by the stands, ignores the outreaching hands of the fans around Percy, and tosses Percy a package.

"Sent the towel boy on an errand," he says and grins. The lights catch the edge of his teeth and the black streak in his hair, and Percy wants to kiss him, but they're absolutely surrounded by people who are already staring. Oliver swings his broom a few inches closer and grabs the front of Percy's jumper, kissing him as the fans around Percy let loose a wolf whistle. "Have fun."

Percy watches him fly back down to the sidelines and smiles as his blush fades. He unwraps the package and finds a book: _Glenda Glotto's Guide to Glorious Grammar_. Percy alters hours four, five, and six between chapters in the book and actively paying attention to the game.

*

"We won!" Oliver crows for the third or fourth time, and the team cheers as they all crowd around a long row of tables that three servers had shoved together with the practiced hurry of people who work at a busy restaurant. He sits at the end of the line of tables, pulls Percy down next to him, kisses him on the mouth as everyone talks around them.

"Hullo," Percy says, smiling and blushing at the same time.

"You're my good luck charm." Oliver declares. "Every time I stopped watching you I saved a goal."

"And every time you were watching him, you missed," Quentin, one of the Bludgers, snarks, a crooked grin on his face.

"Worth it!" Oliver shouts, and he kisses Percy again. "Still won!"

"Oh, that is disgusting!" The insult comes from a woman with a long blonde braid. She's wearing an armband with the Harpies's logo, and she punches Oliver in the shoulder. "Lucky bastards," she gripes.

"Lucille!" Oliver greets, jumping up to hug her. "Come on, you have to join us, let us buy you a round."

"At least," she agrees and moves out of the way as the servers rush to add more tables to the line.

The Harpies end up scattered around the table, debating the ref's calls from earlier in the night and generally causing havoc. Percy sits next to Oliver, Oliver's hand warm on his knee, and tries to keep up as Oliver dissects the Harpies's defense with the main and reserve keepers.

"So," Lucille says, flipping her braid over her shoulder and leaning in so Percy can hear her over the din of the group of them, "you're Oliver's pretty little thing."

Percy furrows his brow at the description. "Yes?"

Lucille laughs. "God, you don't even know."

"Know?" Percy asks.

"The descriptions," Lucille says. "Your eyes, your nose, the way you laugh."

"Luce!" Oliver interrupts, leaning across Percy, "Shut it."

"Your green jumper and gray socks. The way you rub your thumb on Oliver's leg when he wears cords."

"Luce!" Oliver says again, louder.

"I could go on," Lucille offers, and her grin promises a long, long list of tidbits.

Percy is surprised to discover that he's beaming and not blushing. Oliver, on the other hand, is nearly as red as Quentin's Bloody Mary. "No, thanks," he says. "I think I can get the rest of the list later."

"Oh, Merlin," Oliver mutters and presses his head against Percy's shoulder. "So I might say a lot of things about you during away games and after away games," he says before Percy can do more than raise an eyebrow. "And some of them might sound like really ridiculous details that—"

"It's okay," Percy interrupts.

"And it apparently takes four drinks to get me there," Oliver adds.

Percy eyes Oliver's drink. "Oh?"

"No," Oliver says, and moves his beer out of Percy's reach. "Not happening."

"I sat through a six-hour Quidditch match," Percy points out. "And was forced to leave work early to attend it."

"I brought you a book."

"The towel boy brought the book."

"But I flew up to give it to you."

They stare at each other for a few moments. Percy blinks first. "Fine," he says, "but you have to write this list down so I have it when you're away."

"Deal," Oliver agrees. "And we never speak of my total, drunken girlishness out loud again."

"Agreed," Percy says and presses his shoulder to Oliver's as Quentin gets their attention again.


End file.
